Dark Horse
by abrynne
Summary: The numbers that come up are usually strangers, strangers who have something to lose. When a number comes up that John already knows, there is everything to lose and one thing to gain.
1. Wishful Thinking

He usually came in just as the morning rush was dying down. Sometimes she wouldn't see him at all for days on end. But then he'd show up again sooner or later, and always at the same time of day.

Sam was in the middle of filling another order when the bell on the door jingled, and she looked up out of habit to welcome the next customer. The first time he'd come into the coffee shop, Sam had stared for far too long. By now, she was somewhat used to the sort of undeniable… presence he had. He was tall, always nicely dressed in a suit.

When she caught his eye, he smiled, closed mouth as always, which she returned brightly. And, he waited until she was free to help him rather than be served by one of her coworkers.

"Hey John," she said happily as he approached the counter. Sam pointed at him and narrowed her eyes, mimicking deep concentration. "A tall black coffee, and green tea, two sugars?"

"Exactly," John said. The smile was small, but it reached his striking blue eyes.

"How've you been? I haven't seen you in a little while."

"Good," he nodded once. "Just busy with work."

Sam began filling the cups. "You're still not going to tell me what you do, are you?"

"Sorry."

"What? Is it one of those 'I'd have to kill you' kind of things?"

"Something like that," he said slowly as though getting a feel of the idea. She slid the cups across the counter to him as he handed her the cash. "Sam?"

"Yeah?" she looked up at him over the cash register.

"Why does your name tag say 'Eva'?" he gestured to the tag pinned to her apron.

Sam snickered at the question. "All of us switched name tags this morning. We do that sometimes to spice things up."

"You really get that bored?"

Sam leaned toward him over the counter, her face serious. She lowered her voice. "You have no _idea_. That's Eva over there," she gestured to a woman with black hair and dark skin, who turned and waved at John. "She's wearing mine today. This is much better. Last time I traded with Brian."

That got a bigger smile.

"How's the writing going?" he asked.

"Slow, actually," Sam said. "My characters aren't listening to me." she joked.

"Blocked?"

"A little, yeah. It's just been a long winter, I think."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "Maybe you should listen to them."

"Who?"

"Your characters."

"Maybe. Thanks, John."

He nodded and waved a little with one of the cups in his hand as he went toward the door. John stepped out onto the sunlit sidewalk and strode past the windows of the shop without looking back.

"Mm."

Sam started as she realized someone was standing next to her at the counter, watching John walk past.

Eva looked at her, her expression unreadable. "Why don't you just run out there and jump that right now?"

Sam cringed in disgust. "Jeez, Eva! Why do you always have to make everything so nasty?"

"I don't _make_ anything nasty. It's what everyone is thinking. I just say it."

"I'm beginning to suspect your pregnancy hormones. They're pulling your brain deeper into the gutter," Sam said. The two women glanced at Eva's swollen belly. Eva shrugged.

"Just stop saying stuff. Can you try that?"

"Can't do it, girl." She laughed, tossing a rag.

Sam caught the rag and began wiping down the counter, shaking her head. "And I don't want to – I don't want to _jump_ him anyway."

"Sam, you were staring at that man like you wanted to cover him with hot fudge and lick him clean."

"Eva!"

"Okay, sorry about that one," Eva patted Sam on the arm. "Seriously, okay, just ask him out."

Sam shuddered at the thought. Talking to him from behind the counter was one thing. This was familiar territory, and there were literal boundaries between them. It was a decent safe zone.

"I can't do that."

"Why the hell not?"

"Well, he's older, and I don't really know him very well, and I don't think he goes out with baristas who are wishful thinkers, that's all. He looks like he probably dates more sophisticated women who can afford to buy a nice pair of shoes."

"It's your choice, honey. I'd just like to see you go for it once."

Sam finished wiping down the counter and pushed through the door into the kitchen. "So would I."

* * *

John entered the upper floor and makeshift office of the closed library. The tea went to his coworker of sorts, who welcomed him with the usual dull greeting.

"Good morning, John. Sleep well?"

"You're asking?"

"I'm making conversation. You should be able to identify that, Mr. Reese." Harold Finch adjusted his glasses over his nose as he sat down in front of the computer monitors.

"With you, it's sometimes hard to tell."

"I also like to know that you're in good health. It is important for what we do, after all."

"That's very conscientious of you, Finch. I'm flattered." John sat in a chair next to the desk, leaning back as though he were peering at the monitors. Not that it mattered much. Most of the time he couldn't tell what Finch was looking at.

"We have two numbers, Mr. Reese. They came almost simultaneously. A brother and sister; "Scott and Samantha Tudin," Finch handed photos and a profile to John.

"Someone gunning for a family?" John studied the photograph of the boy. He was young, perhaps early twenties with freckles still on his nose, short, cropped hair, and dark eyes. John committed his appearance to memory as Finch explained further.

"I thought so as well at first, but after some research it became a little more mysterious. As far as I can tell, Samantha, has not been in contact with her brother for several years. There are no phone calls, no exchanged letters or any type of communication that I can see."

"Where are they now?" John switched photographs, and began studying the sister.

"Well, Samantha isn't hard to find really. She's got a couple online magazines that she writes columns for and works as – "

"As a barista at a coffee shop a couple of blocks from here," John said, shock in his quiet tone.

"This is Sam," he said flapping the photo gently in the air in front of Finch.

Finch swiveled around in his chair, looking up at John. "You know her?"

"I've seen her at the coffee shop."

"Have you spoken to her?"

"What are you getting at, Finch?" John glared down at him for a moment.

Finch shrugged and straightened out the vest he wore as he turned back to the monitors. "Only that it may be a little easier to help her if she already knows you. Or, it may be more dangerous for her. It's difficult to tell just yet."

"I'll have to keep my distance," John muttered almost to himself. "What about the brother?"

The light from the monitors reflected in Finch's glasses as he scrolled through pages. "He's gotten himself into trouble over the years. He has a record, petty theft, assault, small things, but he may be getting into something bigger."

"With Sam involved."

"It's possible." Finch sighed. "But, there is no known address for him. No phone number, nothing. The last record I have of him is a DUI from about four years ago. Then he fell off the radar."

John Reese studied the photographs again as he considered his options. "Whatever this is, it concerns both of them. If I stay with Samantha, Scott will probably come to her."

"If he hasn't already."

* * *

The photos and profile were stowed in his suit jacket, and the pistol in the back of his pants. Things were quiet on his watch, though. He sat on a bench not far from the coffee shop. He was close enough to observe, but not close enough to be noticed.

Throughout her entire shift, everything appeared normal. She laughed and joked with her coworkers, and welcomed in new customers with that smile of hers. At five thirty, John sat up as Sam left, wearing her jacket and carrying her purse. She was off for the evening.

John left his long-time perch and followed.

Taking out his phone, he walked close enough to pair to Sam's cell just as it rang. He received the call as well and listened through his ear piece.

"Eva, I just left, what – "

"No, I forgot to tell you something. He wanted to pick you up, but you owe me something because I talked him out of doing that."

Sam shook her head and sighed out of relief. "Oh, yeah, that would not have been cool. I _do_ owe you."

"Yeah you do. I told him that you'd meet him there."

"That's the place on the corner of Jefferson and 9th, right?"

"Davis and 9th at seven."

Sam laughed. "That's exactly what I said."

"Don't be so nervous. I can hear it through your phone, you know."

"I know," Sam whined a little. "Blind dates are so… wrong, Eva. There are so many variables that shouldn't have to be there. It's like a psychotic science experiment, putting two strangers together and expecting them to make something out of absolutely _nothing_."

"Well, you had your chance with Hot Fudge Man earlier today," Eva said smugly.

"I told you not to start calling him that. Didn't I say not to start calling him that? Don't start calling him that!"

John tilted his head curiously as he kept pace with Sam. She hunched over and hissed the last statement into the phone.

Eva laughed hysterically on the other end. "I'm sorry, but you know I'm right. Just ask him the next time you see him. Don't think. Just do it! You think way too much, Sam."

"It's true," Sam shrugged.

"Will you do it?"

"I'll think about it. I'll see you later, Eva."

"You'd better do it!" Eva shouted before the line went dead.

John still had a shadow of a smile on his face when they reached Sam's apartment building.

* * *

"She has gone through about nine different outfits, if I'm counting right." John muttered to what looked like himself.

He was looking through an empty office window at Sam's window across the street. The blinds were half open, and he saw her stand in front of the mirror again, wearing what looked like a red top of some kind.

"The date's at seven tonight. She'll be late if she doesn't pick one soon," Finch's voice through the ear piece sounded as bored as John felt.

Sam stayed at the mirror longer this time, touched up her lipstick, and brushed her hair back over her shoulders.

"Finch, are you sure this is the right person? I can't figure how she'd get in the way of anyone who'd want to hurt her."

"The brother is the key, Mr. Reese. We just have to be patient for a little longer, I suppose."

The light in Sam's window went dark, and John moved downstairs and out of the office building. Samantha Tudin stepped out onto the sidewalk just after John did. She was transformed from the smiling barista to a lovely woman in heels, a floral patterned skirt, and a red blouse. Her hair was down, and landed in waves just over her shoulders.

Sam gripped her purse firmly as she walked down the street. Her shoes clicked rhythmically against the pavement until she reached a bus stop. She decided to remain standing, rather than dirty her clothes on the public sidewalk bench. John didn't blame her.

He slipped into an alley about a half a block away and kept his eyes on her until she boarded the bus safely and it drove away.


	2. In the Closet

John paid the cabby and stepped out of the taxi about a block down from the restaurant. It was a nice Italian place, not too expensive, and the food was decent. He slipped in with a group of people, past the front hostess and moved quietly over to a corner of the bar, asking for a beer as he sat down.

Sam caught his eye after a moment of searching the crowd. She sat in a booth at an angle to him, so he only saw a bit of her face. She was alone, absently fingering a white rose in a bud vase in the center of the table. She looked bored as well, from what John could see.

A few minutes passed. She had begun playing Angry Birds on her phone when someone said her name.

"Samantha?"

John heard his voice in his earpiece. The phone pairing was still working, even as a microphone.

Sam's head shot up. "Hi!" she said, sounding slightly nuts. She hastily jammed her phone back into her purse before she stood up.

John cringed as the pair awkwardly decided whether they should shake hands or hug. The result was a strange sort of pat on the back with a gripping of hands at the same time.

The man sat down across from her. John had a clear view of him. Light brown hair, tanning salon skin, and… manicured eyebrows. But his voice was kind, as was his smile.

"Wow, you are very pretty," he said, sounding surprised.

"Oh, thank you," Sam looked down, brushing her hair away in embarrassment. "And you can call me Sam."

"I think I prefer Samantha," he said after a moment's thought.

John dangled off of the cliff with her in the awkward moment.

"Um, okay. What about you? It's Anthony, right?"

"Anton, actually."

John grinned and shook his head.

"So, it's not Anthony?" Sam asked, confused.

"Oh, it is. That's my full name. But I prefer Anton."

"Not… Tony?"

"As in Danza? Afraid not, Samantha."

"Finch," John muttered. "Are you hearing this?"

"It really is quite fascinating," Finch replied.

"Is it because of Tony Danza that you don't like the name?" Sam leaned forward, unable to help herself.

"Drop it, Sam," John said under his breath.

"Partially," Anton said.

A waiter stopped at the table, asking about drinks. The moment he left, a blanket of discomfort lowered over the area. It was big enough that John felt the edge of it from where he sat.

"So, Eva told me that you work in architecture?"

"I'm a designer," Anton confirmed with a nod.

Sam leaned forward, clearly interested. "What kind of buildings?"

"Well, the project I'm working on now is a recreation and rejuvenation space for individuals whose intellectual faculties are under the supervision of a trained professional."

"Oh dear," Finch exclaimed.

Sam didn't answer right away. "You're designing a common room in a mental institution?" she asked after some thought.

John nearly laughed out loud.

"I prefer to call it a 'space'."

"Well that's interesting," Sam tried again. "You have to choose materials that won't be a danger to anyone, and design it so… there aren't any poles to run into. Yeah, you have to think of how a person could be a danger to themselves or anyone else, and eliminate those possibilities in the room."

"Space," Anton corrected again.

Sam, unfortunately, could not help herself any longer. "Have you researched ways in which you could be a danger to yourself or others?"

"We have and we've eliminated those possibilities in the basic design." Anton's demeanor was becoming stiffer by the second.

"Oh, that's good," Sam said, taking a sip of her water. "I wouldn't want those poor people to get hurt because of the design of the room."

"Space," Anton said as John whispered it simultaneously.

Sam stood, suddenly. "I've already had one glass of water. I'll be right back." She smiled genuinely and left the table.

"This person is a danger to our intellects, Mr. Reese," Finch said over John's earpiece.

John didn't reply. He watched as Anton considered his situation, and came to a decision. He put a couple dollars on the table and left the booth.

"Don't worry, Finch. He's gone."

Sam returned to the empty table a minute or so later. Rather than appear disappointed, John saw her smile and relax. She was relieved. She'd gone to the bathroom on purpose, just to give him the chance to escape. Clever girl.

* * *

Grabbing a hold of her purse, Sam walked out of the restaurant and onto the street. It was cooler now that the sun was nearly set. She pulled out her phone and called Eva, who did not answer.

"Hi Eva, it's me. That was the shortest date I have ever had in my entire life. I think you now owe _me_ for setting me up with such a colossal dip! I'll see you tomorrow." Sam posted the message, and dropped the phone back in her purse, unaware of the tall shadow she had.

The bus ride was uneventful. She only received a few double takes as she sat down, but that was all, and that was manageable. The bus dropped her off just a couple blocks from her apartment building. She began walking, now oblivious to her second shadow.

She turned a corner. The crowds of people thinned as she reached her neighborhood; down the rest of the block, past the alley, and halfway down the next block.

Sam looked up and saw the window of her apartment for a split second before someone grabbed onto her and pulled her into the dark alley. Her mouth was covered and all she could see was part of his jaw and the collar of his shirt as he held her there. He shushed her as she made a noise under his hand.

They heard footsteps. Her assailant acted quickly, taking off his jacket and throwing it over her shoulders, covering her red blouse before the man passed. He was searching for something, moving cautiously along the sidewalk, and past the alley.

"I'm sorry I had to do that Sam," her attacker said after he made sure that the man was not coming back. He took his hands away and lowered his face to hers. She could barely make out the details, but the recognition was almost instantaneous.

"John?" she gasped. "What the hell is going on?"

There wasn't a counter any longer. He was standing there; he'd been touching her; and he smelled so good. What was that, aftershave? He was also breathing heavily, as though he'd just done a sprint.

"Are you all right? I didn't hurt you?"

"Yes," Sam nodded. "I mean, no, I'm not hurt. What are you doing here?"

"That man was sent to kill you," he said.

"I – what?"

John glanced to the street where people were still walking back and forth. He looked uneasy. "Let's go somewhere where we can talk."

"My apartment is right – "

"I know that, Finch," he said seriously to the air, then focused back on Sam. "They already know where you live, Sam. No, I can get you to a hotel – "

"They? John, wait, stop!" Sam gripped his arm and he looked at her calmly. Her thoughts were banging around on the inside of her skull. If this was some sort of crazy prank, she was going to _kill_ Eva. But John seemed serious. And if he was serious, he did just save her life. Sam took a breath. "If this is really happening, then I – I need to at least get a change of clothes. Please. You can go in with me and maybe explain some things on the way."

After she finished, John looked as though he was listening to the air for a moment and nodded. He took her hand without a word, and they set off together across the street and into her apartment building. They climbed the stairs in a tense silence as Sam was trying to remember how cluttered she had left her place.

John checked the door before he allowed her to unlock it. When he was satisfied, they entered the dark apartment.

"Hurry, Sam. They might come here for you."

"Who are they?" Sam said as she went into her bedroom. She pulled a duffel bag from under her bed and began stuffing clothes into it along with a hair brush, some hair ties, and what makeup she could find.

"Do you know what Scott has gotten into now?"

Sam froze solid. She went back into the living room where he stood. "He came to see me a couple days ago. I don't – "

"Sh!" John held up his hand and pulled the gun from his back, aiming it at the door.

"No, John!" Sam hissed.

"They're going to get in," he said firmly.

"Then come on. Come, John!" She waved him over to her.

The front door began to rattle in the frame as John followed her into the bedroom. The door burst open, and for the second time that night John grabbed her and moved her without her permission. He hurled himself along with her into the closet. Sam slid the doors shut and they stood amongst some shoes and what Sam believed to be a bra that needed to be washed.

John moved some of the hanging clothes out of the way to look at her as the men entered. There were three of them.

Their voices were muffled as they wandered through the living room. One came into the bedroom. Sam caught a glimpse of him through the slats in the closet door.

"Looks like she was packing to go somewhere. Do you think someone else got her first?" the man in her bedroom said as he wandered away again.

Sam was visibly shaking, her breathing getting shallower. John took her hand and squeezed it firmly.

The three men entered the bedroom then and examined the duffel bag on Sam's bed. Sam watched, horrified as John pulled the gun out again and held it closely.

"John," she whispered, her eyes bugging at him.

He pressed a finger to his lips and nodded his head.

Another tense minute passed as the three men wandered around the apartment until they were satisfied that she wasn't there. They left everything undisturbed and even shut the door behind them on their way out.

Sam released a breath as John pushed his way out of the closet.

"It's Elias, Finch," he muttered. "Yes, I know that, but I recognized two of his men, they were just here in Sam's apartment."

"No," John looked at Sam. "We hid in the closet," he said as he put the gun away again.

Sam then realized she was still wearing his jacket. She pulled it off and handed it to him as she tried to remain calm. "John."

"Yes, Sam?"

"Are you a cop of any sort?"

"No."

"FBI?"

"No, Sam. My work has more of a… private nature to it."

"Work?"

"Yes. I'm working right now. You just happened to be on today's agenda, I'm sorry to say."

Sam lowered herself slowly onto the bed next to the duffel bag. Her heart was still pounding from those seconds inside the closet.

"I take it you're not used to guns." John said, sitting next to her.

"Not in my apartment, no," Sam replied. "I actually own a few, but they're at my parent's house upstate."

"You've used them?"

"Not like how you were about to use one. Just on a shooting range. My father taught me how to hold a gun and fire it correctly. Looks like I might need that set of skills sooner rather than later?"

"I hope not," John said, a ghost of a smile on his face. "That's why I'm here. We need to know about your brother, Sam."

"We?"

John tapped his right ear and she leaned in for a closer look. A tiny flesh colored earpiece sat comfortably just inside his ear. Sam leaned back again and shrugged. "I saw him a couple of days ago. I guess he managed to track me down somehow. He asked me for money. I didn't have any to give him. He asked me to get some from mom and dad for him."

"He can't ask them himself?"

"He's not really on their good side at the moment. I'd like to help him, but I'm afraid of what he'd use the money for."

"How much?"

"Ten thousand dollars, and that's just for a start, he said." Sam sighed and combed her fingers through her hair. The idea that the man she'd been pining after over the last couple of months was sitting next to her on her bed had no effect on her.

"Do you know who he's working for, Sam?"

"I didn't want to ask."

"We'll have to find out," John said. "Take what you need. We need to go."

He got off the bed. Sam remained, her face in her hand. She trembled as she got to her feet and began unbuttoning her blouse. She looked up and saw John still there, his eyes sympathetic. After a moment, he blinked and strode out of the room, shutting the door.


	3. Family

Sam emerged from her bedroom after a few minutes, wearing jeans, sneakers, and a t-shirt. The bag was slung over her shoulder. John kept his hand under the back of his jacket, in contact with the weapon as he opened the door and led the way out of the building.

They hailed a cab and piled into the backseat. Lights passed in and out, over Sam's face as they traveled.

"Where are you taking her?" Finch asked.

John rubbed his face. "Usual place."

"Okay, I'll make the reservation."

Sam's head turned when he spoke. She listened to his reply. "How did you and your friend know what would happen?"

"We have a reliable source."

"You knew ahead of time." Sam thought out loud. "You were following me?"

John looked at her, but didn't reply.

"Nice," Sam said. "Real nice," Sam rolled her eyes. "All that time in the coffee shop, that was just – "

"The coffee shop is a coincidence, Sam," John said firmly. "I only tailed you tonight."

"You were at the restaurant?"

"Yes." John wanted to keep from lying to her as best he could, but her questions were getting more and more prying. This wasn't usually how it went down with other people he was rescuing.

Before Sam could respond to that realization her phone rang. It was muffled, inside the duffel bag that sat at their feet. She opened it up and rummaged around until she found the phone. It was Eva again. John slyly checked the phone in his pocket. He was still connected with hers.

"Hey, I got your message," Eva sounded disappointed.

"Hey, Eva," Sam looked sidelong at John. "I'm kind of in the middle of something right now – "

"What, you didn't ditch Anton?"

"No, not Anton. I'm just not – "

"Girl! Who is it?" Eva's excited shout was loud enough that John had to avoid reacting to the piercing in his ear.

"It's nobody. I'm not with anyone."

"_Liar!_ You know you could never lie to me! Come on, who is it?"

"Seriously, there's no one!" Sam insisted desperately.

"Stop lying to me, Sam. I'm finding out sooner or later. Tell me who you're with!"

Sam glanced at John once more and winced. "Fine! You know the guy who sometimes comes into the shop - ?"

"Sam. It's not Hot Fudge Man, is it? _Tell_ me it's not Hot Fudge Man?"

Sam covered her eyes as the blush started from her neck and worked its way up into her hairline. "Yes, it is."

Eva's shrieks of rejoicing nearly blew out the tiny speaker in John's earpiece. So _that's_ who they were talking about. John averted his eyes to the window on his side of the cab, and casually covered his smile with his hand. He couldn't and perhaps didn't want to imagine how 'hot fudge' had come into his description, but somehow it had. In Eva's mind it had at any rate.

"Eva," Sam said. "Eva…" she repeated. "EVA!"

Eva stopped her rejoicing and listened.

"I probably won't get into work tomorrow."

Eva laughed some more. "I believe you."

"I'm serious, Eva. Will you give Shane some excuse for me?"

"Sure. I'll keep the words five letters or less so he'll be more likely to understand."

"Okay, Eva, I have to go – "

"Oh, yes honey. You definitely have to go. You have got to go with that man and – "

Sam ended the call.

"Eva's married and she's bored. I think she likes to live vicariously through me sometimes." Sam threw the phone back into the bag. "But _she's_ the one who sets me up with pretentious, moronic dweebs for blind dates!"

"He didn't seem like your type," John muttered.

"I don't even know what that is." Sam stopped in her thought and looked hard at John. "You didn't _hear_ that conversation did you?"

"With Anton… not Tony?" John couldn't help himself before it was too late.

Sam laughed. "Thank you," she said. "I definitely needed that."

* * *

The hotel was four star at the very least. Sam tugged on John's arm.

"I can't afford this, John. There's no way in – "

"It's on me," John said, and led her the rest of the way to the front desk.

The room itself got a bigger reaction. John stepped through the doorway in front of Sam, checking the rooms. Sam let out a loud curse that made him come running back into the main room.

"Sorry," Sam said. "I'm fine, but this is real crystal!" She held up a glass and examined it further. "Now I know you work privately. No one working for the government could afford something like this."

Sam sat on the bed, crossing her legs upon the mattress.

"Are you hungry? I noticed you didn't eat at the restaurant," John said, sitting in a chair across from her.

"Is this what you do? Do you sort of rescue people?" Sam asked, leaning forward.

"Basically, yes," John answered.

"And someone pays you to do this?"

"Ye-es," John hesitated for a moment, but answered truthfully still.

"You must have an interesting resume," she muttered as though to herself.

"Sam, I have to ask you about your brother, Scott," John said reluctantly.

"He came to see me at the coffee shop earlier this week. I don't know how he found me. He said he'd found a good job in the city, but needed money to get things 'settled' first."

"Settled?"

"That's the word he used. I didn't ask."

Sam began fidgeting and then stood up, wandering around the room as she spoke. "Mom and Dad are well off, but Scottie got into too much trouble too many times. Dad basically kicked him out."

"And you?"

"I talk to Mom once a week. It kind of tortures Dad, but I wanted to make it out on my own after I finished college. I try not to ask him for money," she chuckled. "And I'm still scraping by ten years later. Go me." Sam raised her arms, mocking a cheerleader as she spoke.

John shifted in his seat a little, the gun poked at his back. "Do you know anything about Scott's job?"

"Just that it's here, in the city somewhere. Scottie's my little brother, and I should try to help him. But he's screwed me over too many times too." Sam wandered over to the window and examined the curtains as she looked out to the twinkling city lights.

"Sounds like Scottie got involved with Elias somehow," Finch said into John's ear when Sam stopped talking.

"But why would he need the money?"

"Ten thousand dollars isn't an amount that would concern Elias, especially when he's in prison."

"We know that's temporary, Finch." John growled.

"Yes, but Scottie would be more of a, forgive the word, an underling in Elias' regime. I can't imagine that he would be set with an important task of any kind."

"I agree." John looked to the woman at the window. She'd put her hair up again, looking more like the kind barista who greeted him some mornings. "Sam. Have you heard of a person called Elias?"

Sam considered for a moment. "Isn't he a person in the Bible?"

"Correct, but no," Finch said in John's ear.

"Yeah, but he's not who we're looking for. Elias is the head of most of the muscle in this city."

"He's a mob boss?"

"More like _the_ mob boss," John corrected. "I think Scott might be involved with him somehow."

Sam swore under her breath.

"We believe that he's put both of you in danger. And I need to find out why," John got to his feet. "Order whatever you want. It's already paid for, okay? They don't know where you are, so you'll be safe here. Just don't leave the room." He headed toward the door, but stopped when she didn't answer.

Sam was back on the bed, shaking uncontrollably. She was crying softly. Tears fell into her lap, and she didn't move to wipe them from her eyes. John turned back to her, grabbed a box of tissues off of the desk and handed them to her as he sat down next to her.

Sam wiped her face, but continued crying. She hardly made any noise, which was always a mystery to John – how women manage to cry so much and hardly make a sound.

"You have to go, John. Go ahead. I'll be fine," she croaked, and took a breath, which made her hiccup.

"You will be fine. I won't let anything happen to you," he said sincerely.

She looked up at him, blotchy and wet faced. "You know what the weirdest part is?"

"What?"

"I believe you."

John smiled a little and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Don't worry. I'll come to check on you in the morning."

* * *

Late that night, Sam received a call on her cell from a New York number that she didn't recognize.

John and Finch stood together in the makeshift office and listened as she answered:

"Hello?" she sounded tired. The call must have woken her.

"Sam?" A young man's voice answered.

"Scottie? How did you find my number?"

"That's not important. Can you get me the money?"

"What is it for?"

"Good girl," John muttered.

"That's not your business," he sounded nervous now.

"It is so my business if you ask me to get it for you!" Sam snapped at him. "Scott, you have to listen to me. Some men came after me, and I'm pretty sure it was because of you. You have to stop whatever you're doing."

"I can't – " the line sounded muffled for a moment. Outside noises were coming distorted through the speaker. "You know the code on Dad's safe, right Sam?"

Sam didn't answer.

"No, never mind. Um… Can I come see you?"

"Why?"

"I just want to talk to you. I'll tell you everything that's going on, okay?"

Sam let out a breath slowly. "Okay."

John pulled out his phone and sent a quick text.

"Where are you?"

"Um. I'm uh – I'm staying at the Marriott," she said. John shook his head and put the phone back in his pocket. "Just you, okay? No one else, right?"

"Right. Which one? What's the room number?"

Sam gave him the address and the room number, agreeing to meet with Scott later the next morning.

"She still can't let him go completely," John said, running a hand through his hair.

"That is probably one of the hardest things to do, Mr. Reese, letting go of family," Finch said quietly.


	4. Batman

She was exhausted, but sleep didn't come easily to her that night. Sam had so much running through her mind – what her brother could be up to; where John was and if he'd figured anything out about Scott; and more importantly, how John knew she had decided to meet with her brother that morning. That text came as she was speaking to Scott the night before, warning her not to tell him where she was. Sam thought on it through the night, sleeping in small spurts in between times, and came to a conclusion: John had tapped her phone as well.

Sam was vaguely aware of the dawn as she dozed lightly. As her room grew brighter with sunlight, she gave up on sleep and got into the shower.

Eva would die a little if she saw where Sam was now. John had paid for a hotel room just for her, but he hadn't stayed with her. Eva would probably be confused more than anything else.

Sam stayed in the shower for a long while, letting the close to scalding water loosen up her muscles in her shoulders and back. It was the most relaxed she'd felt since John accosted her in that alley the night before. He had saved her life. Not because it was her, but because that was his _job_. Sam continued saying that to herself as she stepped out of the shower and dried off.

Wrapping the towel around her, she stepped out into the front room to see John standing there, examining a picture on the wall. She let out a shriek, and ducked behind the bed as he turned, respectfully putting his back to her.

He could never see her like this! Wet, her hair falling over her eyes like some damp sea monster, no makeup, and pasty, bowed legs! She would have to hire someone to kill him. Ironically, she'd probably have to ask him where she could hire someone like that.

Sam crawled around the bed despite John keeping his back to her, not even risking a glance over his shoulder. She gathered a set of clothes in her arms and crawled back into the bathroom.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked.

"Not really."

"That's understandable."

Sam rushed to get into her clothes as she spoke, picking up the t-shirt she brought. She cursed under her breath. She'd left her bra out there! Was there no end to this embarrassment?

Sam poked her wet head around the bathroom doorway. "Um, would you mind turning around again? I forgot something."

John nodded and turned his back to her again. Sam rushed in, the towel clutched to her as she searched for her bra. She looked all the way around the bed. Then she saw it, partially trapped under John's shoe. Yes indeed, that answered her question. There would be no end to the embarrassment.

She sighed and yanked at it. John closed his eyes, perhaps to keep his composure, as he lifted his heel. The bra snapped into Sam's grip, and she ran back into the bathroom.

Sam finished dressing and combed through her hair, pulling it up in a messy bun at the top of her head.

"You can come all the way in now," she called to him.

John appeared in the doorway and leaned against it casually as Sam attempted to manage her face.

"Scottie's meeting me," Sam said, looking at his reflection in the mirror above the sink. "But you already knew that. That's why you're here."

John still said nothing and lowered his eyes.

"You tapped my phone," she said flatly.

"We had to. Traced the call," John explained simply.

"And?"

"He was using a disposable phone. Dead end."

"John," Sam's voice squeaked a little. "How long have you had the tap on my phone?"

John pursed his lips as he looked at her. "Since before the restaurant last night."

Sam didn't have the will to ask the next question popping into her mind. She could see it on his face already. He'd heard _everything_! Now she would have to hire someone to kill him and Eva!

"You know. I think I might prefer it if you let those men just come and kill me, or do whatever they were planning to do. Yes, I think I'd quite like that," Sam said helplessly.

"You don't mean that, Sam," John said.

"It's either that or have you killed. I think we both know which one is easier to accomplish," Sam said sarcastically.

John couldn't help his smile, which made Sam feel a little better.

They waited in the room together, Sam flipping the channels around on the TV, and John peering out the window occasionally.

The knock on the door was soft. Sam turned the TV off, and the two of them stopped to listen. Another knock and John was up first, his weapon drawn.

He pointed it at the door, opening it quickly, by just a fraction. Sam was on her feet, but the gun went back under John's jacket and the door opened fully, revealing her younger brother.

He wandered in, set off balance by the man who opened the door, but smiled when he saw her. Sam wasn't sure what to do. Scott was her brother, but he'd gotten into so much trouble, it was difficult to know how she could trust him. And now, he had put her in danger. She glanced at John, who shut the door and nodded. His face was stone serious.

Sam hugged her brother. She hugged him tightly to her as though she'd be able to bring back the nice young man she used to know, who used to get good grades in school.

"You look good, Sam. I didn't know you were important enough to have a body guard," he jerked his head towards John as they pulled apart.

"He's a friend, who was kind enough to help me out." Sam said.

"Do you know who he's with?" Scott's eyes continued to flick towards John, who remained in the background, his arms folded, leaning against a wall.

"Yes." Sam glanced at John then back to Scott. "He's with me. Come in and sit down."

She sat on the bed and her brother in a chair across from her. He was jumpy. He couldn't seem to find a comfortable position in the chair.

"Scottie, what is going on? Who are you working for?"

"I – I just need to get the money, Sam. Please, I don't want to make it hard on you or anyone else."

It was strange, but Sam believed him. He was almost pleading with her. "You know I can't ask Dad for that kind of money, even if it was for something legitimate. And I don't think it is. Is it?" She already knew the answer, and it was only confirmed by Scott's silence.

"Scottie, you can't do this anymore!" she shouted, surprising herself and the men in the room. "You are going to get killed and we won't even know! You've done so much to us, to me, but I still love you. I want to help you, but I won't help you get further into whatever this is. Just tell me one thing."

"What?" Scott lowered his eyes to the floor.

"Who is after me and why?"

Scott sighed heavily. He looked up at Sam again. His face was pale underneath the freckles, and his eyes were exhausted with worry and fatigue. "I'm sorry, Sam."

At his words they heard a popping noise, and the main door burst open. Sam leaped to her feet, and John was already across the room. Another man entered the hotel room, a gun in his hand. Sam recognized him from the group in her apartment the day before.

Once he crossed from the entry way into the room, John pounced. Sam stared unblinkingly as John disarmed him and knocked him to the floor in a few seconds as efficiently as she'd ever seen. Never in her life had she witnessed that kind of fighting before, fast and deadly. It was like something from a movie. She continued staring once the man was wheezing on the floor.

"We have to go," John said.

"You're not a cop or FBI. You're Batman!" Sam said, her voice shaking. "How did – "

The rest of her words were pushed out of her as she was grabbed around the waist. Scott held her in front of him, the gun of his fallen comrade was in his hand and pressed against Sam's temple. Sam felt his body trembling as he held her, but his grip was firm.

"Drop the gun," Scott demanded.

"Scottie, what are you doing?" Sam whispered. "Why are you doing this? Please - "

"Shut up, Sam! I said, drop the gun, Batman!"

John dropped his pistol on the carpet. "Scottie, she's your sister. I know you don't want to hurt her. Let her go." John said calmly.

"I can't."

"You know I won't let you take her out of this room, even if I have to kill you."

"John!" Sam said.

John crumpled to the floor in front of them. A third man, another from her apartment, stood behind him with a nightstick drawn. John lay at his feet, unconscious.

"John!" Sam shouted, panic rising through her body as Scott dragged her out of the room. She struggled, screaming for John as they carted her out.

Two other men she had not seen before went into the room as Scott and his cohort brought Sam out. They took her into the service elevator, down to the ground level of the hotel.

A white, windowless van was parked in the alley next to the loading gate of the hotel. They muscled Sam into the van, one of the men zip corded her hands and feet together. The double doors shut on her, leaving her in darkness for a few heartbeats.

The doors opened again, allowing the light to stream in, and the two other men tossed John's limp form painfully onto the floor of the van. The doors shut again, and they started moving.

"John? Can you hear me?" she asked desperately, taking his lifeless hand into her own. She held it as they were taken away.


	5. Prodigal

Her head pounded, and her face felt sore. Sam slowly came back to life. She vaguely recalled calling for help in the back of that van. She made noise, screaming and jamming her body against the side whenever the van seemed to slow down or stop.

The last thing she remembered seeing was one of the men who had dragged her out of the hotel come at her with the butt of a gun.

Sam's stomach churned from the pain in her head. The light in the room blinded her as she opened her eyes, making her head thud painfully. She sat up with difficulty. Her captors had upgraded the zip cord around her wrists with actual handcuffs. They were looped around a metal pipe that came through the concrete floor, curved, and went up to the ceiling. They hadn't bothered to release her feet.

Sam scooted on her rear until she was mostly sitting up against the cement wall. She was being held in some sort of basement. In spite of how bright it seemed to her, the single light bulb in the ceiling above her was dim, and gave the barren room a dirty, yellowish tinge.

There were no doors or windows that she could see, not even a set of stairs that went up to the main level of wherever this was. Low voices came from the floor above her. They sounded tense, almost argumentative.

Someone groaned close by. Sam started. John lay next to her, his hands cuffed behind his back and also to a pipe. He began to wake.

He rolled onto his rear and scooted up against the wall. He looked up, and around the room, then at Sam. "Oh."

"Are you okay?" Sam couldn't have sounded more miserable.

John nodded at her. "It looks like you took more of a beating than I did." He squinted at her, leaning forward in attempt to examine the gash and bruise on her face. "Don't they realize that all that does is piss me off a little more?"

Sam felt herself relax a bit. Hearing his voice, knowing that he was with her made the situation somewhat easier to manage.

"Do you know where we are?" he asked, fiddling with the handcuffs behind him.

Sam shook her head. "The van had no windows, and they knocked me out for making too much noise."

John's lips thinned, Sam thought she saw a vein pulsing in his jaw. Before he could reply a door squeaked open, and footsteps came from behind them down a set of stairs.

It was Scott followed by two of his gang.

"Scottie, what the hell – "

"Don't make me shut you up again, bitch." The man who knocked her out earlier stepped forward and spoke, jabbing the barrel of his gun in the air at her. He had a strong build, and a naturally angry demeanor that made Sam go quiet.

Scott held back, his face lowered to the floor.

After an uncomfortable silence, John cleared his throat. "It's often customary to tell us what you want. Otherwise it makes all of this kind of pointless. Where are we? Is this your mom's house?"

Sam stared at John. Why was he purposefully baiting the men with the guns?

That nearly did it. The man who threatened Sam made for John, but Scott grabbed his arm.

"Two visitors are on their way to see your mommy and daddy." He explained rather than go after John.

"_What?_ Scottie, are you _insane?_"

The gun pointing at Sam fired, chipping away some of the concrete wall just above her head. She screamed and went silent again.

"Don't worry, we won't hurt them. I just think that they'd like to know that their daughter's being held – "

"For ransom," John finished it for him. "You're going to get the money from them either way, aren't you Scottie?"

"With the money we get from them, we can get away from here."

"Get away from Elias." John corrected.

"He's in jail and he's _still_ got all of the power!"

"And you think that, with whatever money you get, you can have some of your own? You should probably consider other donors, just to be on the safe side." John glanced at Scott. "Was this the plan, Scottie?"

Scott stayed silent as the now apparent leader of the group spoke. "Just mind your manners and you'll be free as a bird in no time. Come on," he said to his men and they left the room, back up the stairs.

Sam shuddered as the door shut, leaving them in that cold room.

"This isn't right," John said after a short silence. "Something about this doesn't fit."

"Can your friend still hear us?" Sam asked hopefully.

John shook his head. "They took my phone. Probably dumped it in a toilet somewhere. I liked that one too."

Sam sighed, leaning her head back and stared at the ceiling. "He's in over his head."

"I agree. All of this, involving you and your parents, was not in the bargain, I'd guess."

The voices above them started up again. They were heated and angry, talking over each other.

"It also sounds like Boss Man doesn't have as much control as he'd like," John muttered, his eyes looking above them.

The door opened and Sam prepared for more verbal abuse as Scottie came around the corner. He was alone, carrying plates of food.

He set them down on the floor, crouching in front of Sam.

"Scottie, please talk to me," she begged.

He looked up, into her eyes and Sam understood. She saw the fear. He was terrified.

"Listen to me," she said. "If you let us go John can protect you. He can help the both of us and get you out of this mess. Please, Scottie, I know you're afraid, but I know you think this is wrong."

Scott nodded. "This was an assignment. But I lost control of them. I didn't know about mom and dad. Do you believe me, Sam?"

"I believe you. Let me help you, please," Sam whispered.

He looked at her once more, squeezed her hand before he stood and went back upstairs.

Sam waited until the door shut, and started on the handcuffs. The key Scott had slipped her slid in between her sweaty fingers as she tried fitting it in the lock. After some bending and twisting, she managed it and was free.

Her feet still bound, she discarded the handcuffs and scooted over next to John.

"There's a knife in my pocket," John nodded down, to his jacket.

Sam lifted part of his suit jacket, and reached into the inside pocket. Sure enough, a hefty knife met her fingertips. She pulled it out. It looked more like a hunting knife than a regular pocket knife. She opened it and cut through the zip cord around her ankles.

"Go on, get out," John said nodding towards the stairs.

"Don't be so stupid," Sam said, crouching down next to him, the handcuff key in her fingers. She hunched over, grabbed onto his hands and was about to unlock them when she stopped.

Sam sat up and looked at John. It was as though some exterior force had taken her over, and she could hear Eva's voice inside her head, jumping around and screaming.

"What is it Sam?" John said, lifting his eyebrows, which were perfectly fine, even though he obviously didn't wax them. They were just fine. Being this close to him, Sam saw the thin lines around his eyes and mouth, the flecks of gray in his dark hair, and the fine, black fringe of eyelashes around his shockingly bright eyes.

"John, do you remember that scene in the first Superman movie when Ms. Teschmacher rescued Superman from drowning?" Sam felt as though she was about to implode on herself, but she couldn't stop. And perhaps, she didn't want to.

John tilted his head. "It's been a while, but I remember."

"Before she took that chain with the kryptonite on it off of him, she kissed him, because she didn't think he'd let her after he'd regained his strength and everything."

"Right."

Her heart racing, and her mind screaming, Sam leaned forward and kissed him. He couldn't and didn't fight back. Sam's fingers moved through the short hair on the back of his neck as she held him. Eva would have been so proud. When she pulled away, John held that familiar, faint smile on his face. "So, I'm Superman, now? You really should make up your mind."

Sam felt her face redden even more as the door opened again. She hurriedly unlocked John's handcuffs and turned to meet Scott as he came around the corner once more. He held a pistol in his hand.

"What is taking you so long?"

"Sorry," Sam said, still blushing. "I had a little trouble with mine."

"Come on, let's go."

As he said the words, a shot was fired and Scott's eyes glazed over. His knees buckled and he fell to the floor dropping the pistol.

"I knew he'd wuss out," Boss Man said after Scott hit the concrete.

Sam only reacted. Without sensing the gun trained on her head, without hearing John behind her; she picked up Scott's discarded weapon and, holding it one hand, she pulled the trigger twice. Both shots hit Boss Man square in the chest, pushing him back a few steps, and he collapsed.

Sam still held the gun out in front of her, pointing it at a nonexistent target as John placed his hand on her arm and pried the weapon from her fingers. He tucked it in the back of his pants and placed his hands on her shoulders.

"Sam?" He called to her as though she was a distance away.

Sam blinked and looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "John? What did I do?" she whispered. "Scottie, oh Scottie," she moaned, looking at her brother's lifeless body.

"Look at me, Sam," John commanded. "Look at me."

Sam looked at him. "We have to get to your parents. We have to do that first, okay?"

Sam nodded reluctantly, staring at her brother.

John released her and searched the boss' pockets. He found a cell phone and the gun. He handed the weapon to Sam.

Sam stared at the gun, the gun that killed her brother, and took it out of John's hand. She held it for a moment before lowering it to her side.

The clattering of feet down the basement steps reached them, but John was ready. Sam mimicked him, holding the gun expertly, standing next to John as they met the rest of the gang at the bottom of the steps.

"Give me those cuffs, Sam," he said.

Sam gathered the two sets of handcuffs and handed them to John, who was escorting the group of men into the basement. He lined them up against the wall and, Sam keeping her weapon trained steadily on them, cuffed them together, and looped it around the pipes.


	6. Of the Ashes

John hurriedly punched numbers into the phone as they moved up the basement steps and out of the building. It was a small house of some sort, in a row of other small houses on one of the east side neighborhoods.

The call was answered on the first ring. "Where are you?" Finch sounded anxious and a little scared.

"I'm not exactly sure. Track this number, Finch."

"Got it," Finch replied after a few minutes. "They've taken you a ways east from the city. How are Miss Tudin and her brother?"

"She's here with me," John glanced at Sam. Her normally playful eyes were deadened. She stared blankly ahead of them as though she were a robot, waiting for more instructions. "Scott is dead." John heard Finch's exhale over the phone. "We have to get to her parents, Finch. Two of these men went after them."

"I considered that when I lost contact with you earlier. I sent Detective Fuscoe to the Tudin's almost two hours ago. There are also police heading to your location right now. Someone called in shots fired."

John didn't say anymore, but moved across the street to an early two thousands Toyota parked along the road. His hands moved automatically, popping the lock of the car and hotwiring the ignition as he continuously glanced at Sam, who made no protest at stealing a car in order to get away. She kept silent when he unlocked the door for her, and as the engine started.

After a half hour, John's new cell phone rang. Sam glanced at it as he answered.

"John," Finch hesitated. Finch rarely called him by his first name. Something was wrong.

"What is it?"

"Miss Tudin is still with you?"

"Of course."

"Her parents have been killed. I'll leave it up to you, how to tell her. I'm sorry."

John gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"The local force and city detectives have already been called up to the house, including Detective Carter. Because these are Elias' men, it still is an issue for the city police.

"The only good news in all of this is that Detective Fuscoe was in time to catch the killers before they escaped. They were attempting to open the safe in the house when he entered. It seems that Mr. Tudin did not cooperate with them as easily as they had hoped he would."

John remained silent. His anger and grief boiled just beneath the surface, and it was all he could do to keep it under control.

"John?"

"I've got it, Finch. Thanks." He hung up and tossed the phone into the back seat.

Sam looked at him. He felt her eyes on him, but didn't want to meet them. "What is it, John?"

* * *

Sam remembered the sound of John's voice rather than his words when he told her that the rest of her family had been killed, murdered. She vaguely recalled the questions Detective Carter asked her when they reached her parents' house. She did remember being grateful to the detective for being as delicate as she had been with the situation. Detective Carter must have understood. Just like John. Somehow they both knew what it was like.

"I'd like to think that I'm a brave person, or that I have the potential to be so. Both my mother and my father were brave, and exceptionally stubborn. The two may be linked. Bravery may be just another word for being terrifically stubborn, I'm not sure," a small chuckle rippled through the seated crowd. "I know that they loved me and my brother, Scott, more than either of us realized. But I will never forget the bravery that Scottie, my little brother, displayed in those last moments before his life was taken. He _did_ save my life, and I will forever be in his debt for that… "

The sunlight blinked in and out of the clouds on the cool, autumn day. Sam stood, in a black dress and coat at a podium in front of three identical caskets. As she spoke of her family whom she lost only a week ago, she was calm. It spread through her like an incoming tide, relieving some of the numbness that she'd been fighting with since that awful day. Had it only been a week ago? Although the numbness never would fade completely, Sam was slowly beginning the journey of regaining her strength and her self.

Sam glanced up at the crowd gathered to commemorate her parents and brother, and noticed a man standing at the back by a cluster of trees. He wasn't very tall and wore a dark brown suit and glasses. He stood still, his hands folded in front of him, and was listening respectfully with the rest of the crowd.

When she finished speaking, and the service was concluded, Sam endured being consoled by people who knew her parents, coworkers of her father's, and some of Scott's old high school friends. A small group from the funeral service would be headed to her parents' house afterwards. She intended to show up, eventually, but decided that she'd take her time in getting there.

As she worked her way out of the crowd, she saw the same man again. He was watching her, as though waiting for her to be alone. "Hello," Sam said, holding out her hand, which he took. "I don't think we've met before."

"We haven't, Miss Tudin," he said simply, shaking her hand. "My name is Harold Finch."

Comprehension dawned on Sam's face. "John's friend."

"Yes."

"Is John here?" she asked, looking past Finch as though John would pop out from behind one of the tomb stones.

"He was planning to be, I'm sure. I wanted to speak with you first, if I may."

"Of course," Sam gestured to the now empty seats and they sat down.

"That was a lovely eulogy. Very well written and spoken."

"Thank you."

"I am deeply sorry for your loss," Finch said as they sat down. "It was you and your brother we were trying to protect. Instead of saving two people, we lost three."

"It's not your fault," Sam automatically reached out and grasped his hand. "If Scottie hadn't gotten involved – "

"I'm sure you've gone over that many times in your mind already. I don't mean to bring it up again."

"I don't blame you though, or John. What happened wasn't planned, it just happened."

Finch observed her for a moment. "You're a very intelligent woman, if I may say so, Miss Tudin."

Sam smiled. "You may. And you may also call me Sam."

"I came to offer my services, Sam. I know your father left a lot behind to deal with and he ended up leaving it all to you."

"It's a lot to handle, but I'm letting the lawyers deal with most of it. I'll put the house up for sale, and everything in it that I don't want to keep."

"Sensible," Finch approved. "What about you?"

"Well, I lost my job at the coffee shop because of unexcused absences," Sam rolled her eyes. "But I have recently come into a little bit of money, so I'll be staying in the city I think. I like it there."

"You lost your job?" Finch raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"The manager of that place is a high school senior who plans on going into business. He's an enormous douche, who only goes into anything for himself. It didn't surprise me."

The corners of Finch's mouth turned up a little at the verbal bashing of her old boss.

"Well, we might be able to take care of that, actually," Finch said. Sam could _see_ him thinking.

"Take care of what?"

Sam looked up. John Reese stood in his usual garb, a dark suit and shirt, no neck tie, and a black coat.

"You have excellent timing, my friend," Finch said as Sam stood.

The calm began to recede when she saw John standing there. She fought back her tears as he embraced her. "I'm glad you're here," she muttered.

"I never got a chance to – I'm so sorry – "

"No," Sam looked up at him. "Don't you dare, John. Do you know how hard I tried to blame you, the both of you? I was close to drawing diagrams in order to convince myself and the counselor I've been seeing all week. But that was totally wrong. It's not your fault, do you hear me? No one can predict the future." Sam brushed the tears off of her face irritably. "If it hadn't been for you, there would be one more casket there."

She pulled away from John, but he kept a hold of her hand as they stood there, Finch sitting in one of the abandoned chairs.

"I'm really happy you both thought to come."

"If you ever need anything – "

"You'll find me," Sam finished John's sentence with a sad smile.

He squeezed her hand and released her. He muttered something she didn't quite catch and turned to leave. Sam and Finch watched him walk through the rows of tombstones, his coat blowing out behind him in the breeze, almost like a cape, so Sam thought.

"Mr. Finch, I do have a favor to ask, seeing as how you're one of the few looking out for John."

Finch eyed her suspiciously as she sat next to him again. "What is it?"

"If John is ever in trouble, or needs help, I want you to call me. I can handle a gun, and you said yourself that I'm intelligent."

"Mr. Reese's line of work is very dangerous, Sam, I wouldn't want you to – "

"Harold," Sam said. The stern way in which she spoke his name stopped him. "My family is gone. I have very few people left. You and John are two of the very few people. Do you understand? Whatever he is, I consider John my friend, and I want to help him."

"Mr. Reese would not approve, I don't think," Finch said, knowing full well that John would bodily toss him into the Hudson if he even _considered_ Sam as a source for helping in their little operation.

"You're the boss, though, right?"

"In some ways, yes." Finch glanced in the direction John went.

"Just promise me that you'll call me."

"I'll have to let you know," Finch stood up and started to leave. "This is a very reckless decision you're considering, Miss Tudin."

"That makes this number two out of my entire life!" Sam called after him.


	7. Your Side

A month went by, and Sam felt as though she could breathe steadily at times. It would still take a long recovery. But, a new apartment, another online column to write, and an outline for her first novel would help her as she went on her way.

One Monday, she received a text asking her to meet at her old place of employment later that morning. The number was blocked, but the text was simply signed "J". Curious, Sam arrived early and was greeted happily by Eva the moment she walked through the door. Eva hugged her awkwardly, her pregnancy belly made any type of embrace strange and unruly.

The shop was empty aside from the employees and Sam, who followed Eva up to the counter. Even Shane was out front, checking on one of the machines. He nodded curtly to Sam, who had to stop herself from making any obscene gestures at him.

"I'm sorry I haven't seen you in a while," Eva said sadly. "How are you doing?" The question was loaded.

"I'm – " Sam thought more on the question. "I'm awake. I'm standing here, talking to my friend. That's basically all my brain can process."

"I get it," Eva nodded in understanding.

"Have you picked out a name, yet?" Sam asked, smiling.

Eva scowled. "Leo is _insisting_ on something in _Star Wars_. I told him the only one I'd settle on was Ben. But then he said it would have to be Ben Kenobi Jefferson, which is _not_ going to happen as long as I'm alive."

Sam burst out laughing. Eva always made her laugh. It was a great feeling to have.

"Eva? You can have your social time after work," Shane waved his pen at her and at the door as a couple new customers walked in.

Both girls rolled their eyes, and Sam moved to one of the tables and sat down, taking out her phone.

The bell on the door jingled again.

"Be with you in a minute," Eva called from the counter.

John took the seat next to Sam at the table.

"Angry Birds," he muttered, gesturing to the phone in Sam's hands. "I never could get into that."

Sam nearly snorted. "No, it doesn't seem like your kind of game."

"How are you?"

"I'm awake and talking to you," Sam said with a smile.

"Good. It'll get easier. That's what they tell me anyway."

They fell silent. The game on her phone went ignored as she waited for him to explain why he asked her to meet him here.

"So?" She said, putting her phone away.

John shrugged. "So?"

"Why did you want to meet me here?"

"Well, first I have some bad news, but I figured you'd want to know anyway."

Sam tensed up.

John looked into her eyes very seriously. "Elias is out of prison."

"What? How?" Sam said, shocked.

"The charges against him are about as long as my leg, but the evidence turned out to be insubstantial, and no one will testify against him. They had no choice but to let him go."

Sam growled and muttered something under her breath.

Her remark made John smile a bit. But he shook his head. "You might want to think that one over."

"Well, my fantasizing about it won't do anyone any harm."

"That's true."

"Was there anything else?" Sam said after another silence.

Eva finished with the two customers and stepped out from behind the counter, grinning from ear to ear at John and Sam.

"Well, I was actually hoping to talk to Shane."

Sam looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"I know you're not really looking anymore, but him firing you like that after what you went through wasn't very nice. Wouldn't you agree, Eva?"

"Absolutely," Eva laughed.

"John, don't you _dare_!" Sam gripped onto his arm as if she'd somehow be able to stop him.

John chuckled softly. "I'm just going to talk to him," he said innocently.

"You and I both know that you're full of crap."

"Yeah, well don't spread it around," John stood up, dragging Sam with him.

"You can't do this, John. He's a weak minded idiot. You'll scare him!"

Eva followed them to the counter as another customer walked in.

"Shane?"

Shane turned and smiled his Customer Service smile. "Yes sir, what can I do for you?"

"May I have a word with you for a moment?"

John pointed to the corner of the shop. Sam sighed and gave up. The two men stepped away and Sam waited by the counter.

"… all the money in the register and your tips, now!"

Sam whipped around. Poor Eva, her hands quaking in front of her, stared down the barrel of hand gun. The man who held it had most of his face covered with a pair of sunglasses and a hood. When he realized he had Sam's attention as well he yanked the weapon over, pointing it at her. He held it sideways. Sam never understood the reasoning behind that particular stance.

"You're honestly going to hold up a pregnant woman? That's so low."

Eva was in the middle of opening the drawer.

"Shut up!" he shouted at her.

For a reason that Sam could not grasp, she wasn't afraid of this man with the sideways gun. Holding her hands up in the air as anyone else would have done never even occurred to her.

His shout must have gained the attention of the others in the shop. Sam felt a comforting hand upon her shoulder and smiled.

"Is there a problem here?"

"Get on the floor, all of you, now!"

Shane hit the floor hard. Eva was about to go down when the gun moved toward her again. "Just get me the money and I won't hurt you," he demanded.

Eva nodded, tears in her eyes, as she pulled out the cash drawer.

John moved past Sam like a ghost. He wrenched the gunman's arm up, and the weapon fired into the ceiling. Sam stepped back as John disarmed him, and nearly maimed him in just a few seconds.

"Call the police," he told Eva, who was gaping at him like a fish.

John took the gun, sliding it into his coat pocket. "A pregnant woman? Really?" He gave the man one more kick as Eva called the police.

"Sam. I am so sorry!" Shane wailed as he got to his feet. "If you want your job back, it's yours." He glanced at John. "With a raise!"

"Don't worry about it," Sam said.

"What did you say to him?" She asked John, following him out onto the sidewalk.

The sun was shining brightly through the cool, crisp air, hinting that winter was close by.

"Just a few points of logic that I was about to support when we were interrupted."

"You know, it's really useful, having you around," Sam said, unable to contain her smile.

"Finch told me about your… request," he said.

Sam's smile broke and she shrugged. "You protect all of these people, John. There aren't many watching out for you."

"Oh, Finch does all right. And I have a couple detectives on my side… once in a while," John mused.

"I can always be on your side," Sam blurted, surprising herself.

John looked at her, mild interest in his expression. "For the record, I would have let you. Without the handcuffs." He kissed her on the cheek and gave her a quick wink before slipping on a pair of sunglasses and moving down the sidewalk.

Sirens approached the corner as Sam watched Mr. John Reese move into the crowds and disappear.

* * *

John's phone rang in his pocket. He put his earpiece in and answered.

"Hello John," said a calm and familiar voice.

"Elias," John replied.

"I hate to admit it, but it is nice to hear your voice."

"What do you want?"

"You never were one for banter," Elias said with disappointment. "I have been told that you were involved in a little incident that took place about a month ago."

"Incident? Three innocent people died," John said, working to keep his voice calm.

"Come now, John. I would hardly call that Tudin boy innocent. And you neglected to mention my former employee."

John didn't reply. He continued walking down the street, keeping his anger at bay.

"I'm going to be honest with you. I regret the events that happened over there. Nothing like that was supposed to take place."

"It didn't seem like a very well planned operation," John said reluctantly.

"I'm glad you agree. You see John, in spite of what you think, I do have a good set of standards. When that young man wanted to join my little group, I considered telling them to turn him away. But he showed such promise, you understand."

John dug his fingernails into his palms, the need to hit something began to grow as Elias continued.

"As you are already aware, I rely on loyalty and high pay rates. I already knew of the, shall we say, renegade who wanted to bring chaos into my order."

"You gave Scott Tudin the assignment to get rid of him. So he could prove himself to you." John finished the sickening story for him.

"Well done, John." Elias sounded pleased. "I want you to understand that I never meant any harm to those people, or his sister. Reckless killing is pointless and a waste of time. But, you can't win them all. Isn't that right?"

Elias paused. When no response came, he continued, "I understand that Tudin's sister is the one responsible for ridding me of my… burden?"

John didn't reply.

"I'll take your silence as a confirmation. I'd like to repay her somehow. Having also lost my parents, can understand what she is going through. She may need someone like that to talk to."

John knew Elias was baiting him, but he couldn't stand it. "She has nothing to do with anything, Elias. Leave her alone."

"Of course, John. Like her parents, she's not involved. If she were to become involved in some way, though – I can't really help that, can I?"

"Elias," John warned.

"Come to think of it, you don't have to be involved either, John." The line went dead.

John continued walking.

* * *

Thanks to all of you for reading and posting your reviews! They were all very much appreciated. :)

I have a continuation to this already in the works, so stay tuned!


End file.
